


Roses

by motelsamndean (whalesandfails)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 21:57:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalesandfails/pseuds/motelsamndean
Summary: For Klo <3Dean buys Sam roses.





	Roses

The bouquet of roses sat pretty on the cheap plastic counter in their motel room; if the place hadn’t looked drab before, the contrast certainly made it look so now. The comforters would have been colourful once, but now were the kind of dirty only age could bring and matched the dirty floor and the dirty bathroom and the dirty walls. The petals were soft as velvet when Sam fingered them gently, the oils from his skin changing the color from a striking vibrant red to one that was deep and bloody.

“These are… for me?” He looked up at Dean from under his lashes, not sure why his brother had gotten him this gift. Not complaining about it, though. It felt so romantic, and his heart surged. This is real, its real because Dean gave me flowers. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, wanted to say quite a few things. Wanted to tell Sam of course they were, of course, but didn’t know how to say how he felt. Wanted to tell Sam that he wanted to give him much more than flowers, wanted to give him the whole world. Wanted to tell Sam that he got them for $2.00 at the dollar store down the road, they were red like Sam’s insides and were beautiful even with their thorns. Wanted to tell Sam it was nothing. Wanted to tell Sam something snarky and cruel and totally brotherly in its insensitivity. 

“Yeah.” He said instead. 

Sam turned back to the flowers and red filled his vision. It was painful, the way he felt. Needed to get it out by pressing his forefinger against a thorn, watched the blood pool on the pad, oily slick when he pressed his thumb against it, glide of fingers smearing the red. 

He wanted to do so many things with these flowers. Wanted to leaves scrapes and jabs in his and Dean’s skin. Wanted to peel all the petals off one by one and bathe in them. Wanted to boil the flowers and wear their scent on his skin, a reminder of Dean – a claim – wherever he went. Wanted to watch them wilt and wither and die in the way his love for Dean never would. Wanted, wanted, wanted. 

Dean’s hand settled on his wrist, bringing Sam’s bleeding fingertips to his mouth. He sucked gently on the tacky blood, tongue lapping against the pinprick of a wound, pupils blown. This was new – it was new and raw and Dean had got him fucking flowers like he was a teenage girl in a stupid romantic comedy to be won over. 

But… He kind of was. His heart flip-flopping around in his chest all the time, wanted to shout to the world that he loved Dean. But this wasn’t just a dream anymore, it was real, it was happening. 

Sam tangled his fingers through Dean’s, a smile that was equal parts vicious and soft, like the roses in this dingy motel room. Dean knew neither Sam nor the flowers belonged there, belonged under the sun and in clear spring water and in the nicest honeymoon suite the world could buy. But they were here instead, with questionable stains underneath the soles of their shoes. They were here instead, but so was Sam, and so were the roses, and nothing else really fucking mattered, did it?


End file.
